The depths of our secret souls are so vast that Gwynplaine’s dreams scarcely touched Dea.  Dea reigned sacred in the centre of his soul; nothing could approach her.

Still (for such contradictions make up the soul of man) there was a conflict within him.  Was he conscious of it?  Scarcely.

In his heart of hearts he felt a collision of desires.  We all have our weak points.  Its nature would have been clear to Ursus; but to Gwynplaine it was not.

Two instincts—­one the ideal, the other sexual—­were struggling within him.  Such contests occur between the angels of light and darkness on the edge of the abyss.

At length the angel of darkness was overthrown.  One day Gwynplaine suddenly thought no more of the unknown woman.

The struggle between two principles—­the duel between his earthly and his heavenly nature—­had taken place within his soul, and at such a depth that he had understood it but dimly.  One thing was certain, that he had never for one moment ceased to adore Dea.

He had been attacked by a violent disorder, his blood had been fevered; but it was over.  Dea alone remained.

Gwynplaine would have been much astonished had any one told him that Dea had ever been, even for a moment, in danger; and in a week or two the phantom which had threatened the hearts of both their souls faded away.

Within Gwynplaine nothing remained but the heart, which was the hearth, and the love, which was its fire.

Besides, we have just said that “the duchess” did not return.

Ursus thought it all very natural.  “The lady with the gold piece” is a phenomenon.  She enters, pays, and vanishes.  It would be too much joy were she to return.

As to Dea, she made no allusion to the woman who had come and passed away.  She listened, perhaps, and was sufficiently enlightened by the sighs of Ursus, and now and then by some significant exclamation, such as,—­

“One does not get ounces of gold every day!”

She spoke no more of the “woman.”  This showed deep instinct.  The soul takes obscure precautions, in the secrets of which it is not always admitted itself.  To keep silence about any one seems to keep them afar off.  One fears that questions may call them back.  We put silence between us, as if we were shutting a door.

So the incident fell into oblivion.

Was it ever anything?  Had it ever occurred?  Could it be said that a shadow had floated between Gwynplaine and Dea?  Dea did not know of it, nor Gwynplaine either.  No; nothing had occurred.  The duchess herself was blurred in the distant perspective like an illusion.  It had been but a momentary dream passing over Gwynplaine, out of which he had awakened.

When it fades away, a reverie, like a mist, leaves no trace behind; and when the cloud has passed on, love shines out as brightly in the heart as the sun in the sky.

CHAPTER IX.